Punch (99.1890)

August 16, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

77

STARS IN THE STRAND ; OR, THE HORSE AND THE LADY.

My Deae Me. Punch,

One of the greatest attractions in Town to the Country
Cousin I need scarcely say is the Theatre. Speaking for myself, it is
the place I earliest visit when I get to London, and consequently I
was not surprised to find myself the other evening in the Adelphi, on
the first night of a new play. As an Irishman might guess, from
its name (The English Rose), the piece is all ahout Ireland. Both State
and Church are represented therein—the former by a comic sergeant of

%

rising to the situation !

{Scene from a well-mounted Drama.)

the Royal Constabulary, and the latter hy a priest, who wears a hat in
the first Act that would have entirely justified his being Boycotted.
The plot is not very strong, and suggests recollections of the Flying
Scud, Arrah Na Pogue, and_ The Silver King. The acting is
fairly satisfactory, the oast including a star, supported by an
efficient company. The star is a horse that pranced about the stage
in the most natural manner possible, carefully avoiding the orchestra.
In spite, however, of his anxiety to keep out of the stalls, suggestive
as they were (but only in name) of the stable, some little alarm was
created in the neighbourhood of the Conductor, which did not entirely
subside until the fall of the curtain. But the sagacious steed knew
its business thoroughly well, and was indeed an admirable histrion.
Only once, at the initial performance, did this intelligent creature
remember its personality, and drop the public actor in the private
individual. The occasion was when it had to put its head out of a
loose-box to listen to the singing of a serio-comic song by a lady,
dressed as a " gossoon." For a few minutes the talented brute made a
pretence of eating some property foliage, and then, catching sight of
the audience, it deliberately counted the house! _ I regret to add that,
in spite of the valuable support afforded by this useful member of
the Messrs. Gatti's Company, its name did not appear in the playbill.

A few evenings later I had a second time the advantage of being
present at a first night's performance. The occasion was, the pro-
duction of The
Great Unknown,
by Augustin
Daly's Company
of Comedians. I
found the piece
described as a
"new eccentric
Comedy," but,
beyond a certain
oddness in the
distribution of
the characters of
the cast, did not
notice much
novelty or eccen-
tricity. The life
and soul of the
evening's enter-
tainment was

MissADAREHAN,

a talented lady,
who (so I was

A Breakdown at the Lyceum ! told) ta8 made

{Importedfrom the Gaiety.) jjgj. ^j,.^ jn

Rosalind, in As You Like It, and Katharina, in the Taming of the
Shrew. I can quite believe that Miss Rehan is a great success in
parts of the calibre of the Shakspearian heroines I have mentioned:
nay, more, I fancy she would do something with Lady Macbeth, and
be quite in her element as Emilia, in Othello. But, as she had to
play an ingenue, aged eighteen, in The Great Unknown, she was

not quite convincing. It was a very good part. In the First Aot she
had to coax her parja, and flirt with her oousin; in the second, to
respond to a declaration of love with a burst of womanly feeling;
and, in the third, to play the hoyden, and dance a breakdown. All
this was done to perfection, but not by a young lady of eighteen.
Miss Ada Rehan was charming, but looked, and I fancy felt, many
years older than her legal majority. I question whether she was an
ingenue at all, but, if she were, she was an ingenue of great and
varied experience. When Mrs. Bancroft appeared as the girl-pupil
in School, she was the character to the life ; but when Miss Rehan
calls herself Etna, throws herself on sofas, and hugs a man with
less inches than herself, we cannot but feel that it is very superior
play-acting, but still play-acting. Take it all round, I was
delighted with the lady at the Lyceum, and the horse at the Adelphi,
and nearly regret that, having to leave town, I shall not have the
opportunity of seeing either of them again.

Yours faithfully, A Critic eeom the Country.

A HOLIDAY APPEAL.

[Last year Mrs. Jeune's " Country Holiday Fund" was the means of
sending 1,075 poor, sickly, London children for a few weeks into the country,
averting many illnesses saving many lives, and imparting incalculable
happiness. Mrs. Jeune makes appeal for pecuniary assistance to enable her
to continue this unquestionably excellent work.]

It is Holiday Time, and all such as can pay,
For the Summer-green country are up and away;
But what of the poor pale-faced waifs of the slums ?
Oh, the butterfly flits, and the honey-bee hums
O'er the holt and the heather, the hill and the plain,
But they flit and they hum for Town's children in vain ;
Unless—ah! unless—there is hope in that word!—
Mrs. Jeune's kindly plea by the Public is heard.
Heard ? Everyone feels 'tis a duty to listen.
The eyes of the children will sparkle and glisten,
In hope of the beauty, at thought of the fun,
For they know their kind champion, and what she has done,
And is ready to do for them all once again,
If folks heed her appeal. Shall she make it in vain ?
Three weeks in the country for poor Bob and Bess !
Do you know what that means, wealthy cit ? Can yon guess,
Dainty lady of fashion, with "dots" of your own,
Bright-eyed and trim-vestured, well-fed and well-giown ?
Well, Bobby's a cripple, and Bess has a cough,
Which, untended, next winter may " carry her off,"
As her folks in their unrefined diction declare ;
They are dying, these children, for food and fresh air,
And their slum is much more like a sewer than a street,
Whilst their food is—not such as your servants would eat;
Were they housed like your horses, or fed like your dogs,
They would think themselves lucky ; that's how the world jogs!
But three weeks in the country! Why, that would mean joy,
And new life for the girl, and fresh strength for the boy.
The meadow would heal them, the mountain might save,
Won't you give them a chance on the moor, by the wave ?
Why, of course! Jew have only to know, Punch to ask,
And you '11 jump at the job as a joy, not a task!
Come, delicate dame, City Cecrstjs rotund,
And assist Mrs. Jeune's " Country Holiday Fund 1"
Mr. Punch asks, for her, your spare cash, and will trouble you
To send it to Thirty-seven, Wimpole Street, W..'

THE EMPIRE IS PIECE, OR, RATHER, BALLET.
Wow that the weather is so uncertain, that one day it may be as
sultry as the tropios, and the next
suggestive of Siberia, it is aB well to
know where to go, especially when al<
fresco entertainments are impossible.
To those who are fond of glitter tempered
with good taste, something suitable to
their requirements is sure to be found ,
at the Empire. At this moment (or, '
rather, every evening at 10"30 and_ 9)
there are two excellent ballets being
played there, called respectively Ceeile
and the Dream of Wealth. The first
is dramatic in the extreme, and the last,
with its precious metals and harmonious
setting, is worth its weight in notes-
musical notes. There is plenty of poetry * ^ Oiii,
in both spectacles—the poetry of motion. Further, as containing
an excellent moral, it may be said that this pair of spectacles is
suitable to the sight of everyone, from Materfamilias up from the
country to Master Jacky home for his Midsummer holidays.